Speak and Listen
by Uninformed Conformist
Summary: There's always work to be done. Pyrrha Nikos has lived this busy life for years, and she's become fed up with it. She doesn't want to be some mascot, and she couldn't care less about the trophies she has earned. What she wants, is to be a Huntress.


She had done it again.

Cameras were flashing. People were cheering. She could barely hear the announcement from the commentator's box over the bombardment of questions she was receiving from the press all around her.

_"It's amazing! For the fourth year in a row, Pyrrha Nikos has won the Mistral Regional Tournament!"_

For a while, she had almost forgotten about that. For the past few hours, all she was doing was what came off to her as second nature. A true Huntress-to-be, Pyrrha Nikos didn't let anything else bother her while she battled it out with the opponent in front of her.

Pyrrha was tired, and quite frankly, rather battered. Even if this was her fourth victory in this same tournament, fighting most of the same people, she endured a hefty beating. Her abundant Aura worn down, she was trying to snap back into reality when she began to feel her body bruise, her muscles ache, and her knees buckling from beneath her, her legs struggling to hold her up. Her eyes were sore and heavy and they began to flutter, the flashing lights growing dimmer and slowing down.

She would open her eyes next to find that she was in a new place that she didn't recognize. The decor all around her was mostly white, which made Pyrrha wince as she came to her senses. She slowly sat up, shifting a thin blanket off of her. She scanned the area once more as her sight returned to her.

_Hospital room_, she thought to herself. She had been in one more than a few times, now that she thought more on it. Constantly working yourself half to death does things to you, one could suppose. Pyrrha sighed. She still felt sore and groggy, and was perfectly content to sleep for a little while longer. She started to sift back into a comfortable position when she heard a voice beside her.

"Congratulations on your victory yesterday, Pyrrha." A low yet gentle voice hummed. Pyrrha, startled, sat back up, then turned to the source of the voice. Indeed, she saw the frame of a large, muscular man sitting in the chair off to the side of her hospital bed. Once she lay her eyes on him, her tension subsided, but only barely. She knew the man: this man of renown and strength. An accomplished man of humble, yet true glory. Pyrrha was only half-way glad to see this man right now.

"... Father." Pyrrha practically whispered out. Pyrrha was glad to see her father beside her now to make sure his only daughter was alright, but at the same time, she dreaded what it could mean if he was here waiting so dilligently so early for.

"That makes four in a row. Not many girls in the Mistral region can say they've accomplished such a feat before. Especially at your young age." Pyrrha's father gazed upon his daughter with a proud look that only a truly proud father could carry. Pyrrha, on the other hand, didn't meet his eyes.

"This makes it my last victory, as well. This was the last year I was of eligible age to compete in the tournament. I'm... personally rather relieved I won't have to go through that anymore." Pyrrha looked down at her hands, flexing them, curling them into fists, then extending them again.

Her father paused, then responded. "Indeed. Just as you've done countless times in the past, you can only continue to excel, and thus, push onward in achieving greatness." Pyrrha frowned. She had been training and competing in combat tournaments for several years, as soon as she was able to. Even then, she had already had an established presence in the media. From an even earlier age, Pyrrha served as the mascot for several products, almost singlehandedly responsible for the skyrocketing sales of a Mr. Pumpkin Pete's breakfast cereal.

Between the combat and modeling, Pyrrha was essentially a celebrity. Because of her work, she was able to bring wealth to her family, which they were grateful for. Even now, Pyrrha's parents give her their utmost support, but seldom do they ever realize the strain it puts on her.

Just then, Pyrrha's father continued; "We've sent in an application for you to attend Beacon Academy next year, your mother and I have." Pyrrha actually brightened up at this news. She didn't want to spend her life constantly in front of a camera, either smiling pretty or keeping her eyes focused on the combatanant charging her. What she wanted to do was lend aid to those who needed it. With this world living in comfortable, yet constant anticipation of when next the Creatures of Grimm will attempt to return humanity to dust, she would be more than happy to use her superior fighting prowess to defend the populace.

As if Pyrrha's father was out to even out the _"good"_ news from the _"bad"_, next he spoke: "You merely passed out from exhaustion, so you're still in good shape to continue working. Your mother will be by her to have you discharged within the hour," Pyrrha's father stood up from his seat. Pyrrha inwardly sulked, "She will take you to your next photo shoot. Until then, Pyrrha, farewell. Congratulations. Your mother and I are very proud of you."

Pyrrha's father exited the hospital room. Pyrrha sighed, then she turned to look out the window. It was rather gloomy out. Inevitably as it seems, it began to drizzle. Pyrrha watched the rain bounce off of the trees outside. It soothed her, and this would be the last thing for a few days at least that would be able to earnestly do so.

Cameras were flashing. Pyrrha got lost in the lights, but she knew she had been giving her best smile to each camera, standing there for at least fifteen minutes doing absolutely nothing but, if not more. Her long crimson hair was tied into twin tails, very childish looking, but the same style they've been prepared in for several years. The makeup she was wearing also aimed to preserve her youth. If that's what they want, Pyrrha thought, then I can only hope that I grow old fast.

Pyrrha was still tired. She was still sore, and bruised, and aching, and her legs felt like they were going to give out on her again. Luckily, soon enough, the cameras stopped when the director sent them off. She was done for the day, they said, but she knew that was a lie. Pyrrha's mother had told her before arriving that after the shoot, she would then move on to take pictures for her victory at the Mistral Regional Tournament. Pyrrha would try to stifle at least one groan, but the flashing of lights and the application of cosmetics that smelt sickeningly sweet always choked her and cut her off.

And so, afterwards, Pyrrha was spared some time to make herself more presentable to the audience of combat enthusiasts she would continue on for. The cameras continued flashing. She was still tired. This was getting ridiculous. Pyrrha smiled again for the cameras with her new trophy she had disregarded any care for, shook hands with probably tenfold the number of officials any normal person would ever meet in their lifetime, answered simple questions she already forgot her responses to, and all the while, she was just preparing to collapse.

After her long day considered finished, Pyrrha returned home. Exhausted, she ignored the continued congratulatory remarks from her parents and proceeded to her bedroom.

In front of her mirror, she loosed her ponytail, long tresses of vibrant scarlet falling down past her shoulders and onto her back. She gave herself a long steady look into the mirror. She was yet to remove the amalgamation of makeup that lasted her through the onslaught of lights. Even then, she sought past that and could clearly see she looked like hell. Her emerald-colored eyes looked half dead. Her jaw and lips felt stiff from the constant smiling throughout the day. You'd think being so familiar with this exhaustion, one could eventually tolerate it. Unfortunately, every day was the same for Pyrrha.

In a brief fit of frustration, Pyrrha wiped her hands all over her face, displacing the makeup some spent hours to prepare. She gave herself another long look, then sighed. Then she yawned. She looked at her bedroom clock. It was nearly midnight, meaning that a new day would soon be upon her. She dreaded that, although she knew that it was inevitable.

Pyrrha decided to take a shower to ease her pain. The water washed away the paint that hid her weariness, but she noted that her body still ached and throbbed. She twisted the knob further left, and just let the hot water fall on her. It was a distraction that could last for at least so long. Once she could start to feel the steam begin to cloud her lungs and make her head feel light, Pyrrha turned the water off, and stepped out.

After drying herself, Pyrrha changed into her night clothes, and at last lay her head upon her pillow, pulling the covers over her tired body. Her thoughts alongside her eyes began to flutter, and while she was about to be taken by the sweet embrace of slumber, she remembered something.

_"We've sent in an application for you to attend Beacon Academy next year."_ Pyrrha's father had told her while she was still in the hospital's care this morning. Beacon Academy. A school designed with the purpose of training up and coming Hunters and Huntresses. A place where warriors of all shapes and sizes came to study to protect the lands and maintain world order and tranquility. While those are the true and more noble goals, Pyrrha amusedly thought to herself that it would be a perfect way to escape her overwhelming lifestyle.

Her thoughts of anticipation kept her up later into the night and early into the morning, but she would at least drift off to sleep feeling content with her thoughts.

So the months of Summer went by, and Pyrrha's busy schedule was changed oft little, but each day, she would remember Beacon and be glad that soon, she wouldn't have to deal with her work anymore. Soon, the flashing lights would cease, and she could move on to achieving _her _goals in trying to make this world a safer place, helping those who are unable to help themselves. When the leaves of Autumn began to change their color, Pyrrha had packed her belongings and boarded her airship to Vale to attend Beacon Academy. She hugged and kissed her parents goodbye. As usual, they were the proudest parents any daughter could have, but their obliviousness to Pyrrha's own desires would no longer matter. On the airship, she waved down to them a final goodbye, then looked out to the vast ocean just out the window.

Once again, it was Pyrrha's time to get to work. But this time, she eagerly smiled and faced it with confidence that only could befit that of the champion of tourneys and the poster girl of breakfast cereals. Now, she was going to become a Huntress.


End file.
